Amidst the blanket of thick snow and the haunting melody of the northern breeze, Graveloth’s boots crunched against the icy ground as he made his way toward the council hall. Once the revered citadel of the Kra’en royal family, its grandeur now stood as a testament to the kingdom’s resilience, renamed the Krag’os Citadel.

Despite the biting chill and the desolation of the snowy landscape, there was a quiet vitality to the citadel that warmed Graveloth’s heart. Lantern light danced through the streets of Mathron, casting ethereal shadows against the snow. With each exhale, his breath materialized into a veil of mist, a reminder of the harsh winter air that permeated their world.

His gaze lingered on the Council Hall, its once proud banners now weathered and torn, a poignant symbol of the kingdom’s tumultuous history. Memories flooded his mind, of the day he returned from his mission at the behest of the former Imperial Arch Chancellor. The city had been in upheaval, not out of disgrace, but because his actions had sparked a revolution of sorts—a rebellion against the corrupt royal family who hoarded wealth while their people suffered.

Despite being blessed with the richest mines in the land and the coveted kra’enite ore, the rest of the Iron Kingdom languished in poverty. This precious resource, akin to the holenshartz of the Trasidar Empire, held untold power, yet it was squandered by those in power for their own selfish desires, leaving the populace to scrape by in squalor.

Since his departure for the Arch Chancellor’s summons, he had been informed that the people’s dissent against the royal family had reached its breaking point, leading to the Jaghjourns’ fall from power and the ascent of the populace’s rule in Mathron. As the temporary Lord Paramount of the Iron Kingdom, he swiftly navigated the turbulent waters of change, aided by the Empire’s support.

Reflecting on their journey, he sighed with a bittersweet smile as the gates of the citadel slowly parted before him. Inside, the halls were adorned with new banners bearing the sigil of the Kra’ens, depicting a hammer and a blade crossed against each other, replacing the former crest of the Jaghjourns with the symbol of the Great Animos Nuragod, representing the Storms and Mountains.

Though he disliked the title, he had no choice but to bear it. Awkwardly exchanging pleasantries with the guards, he made his way through the illuminated halls, relishing the warmth that enveloped him as he shed his cloak.

As he approached the council hall, faint murmurs echoed through the corridors, growing louder as he pushed open the doors. Within, the newly appointed councilors deliberated over urgent matters.

“So shall the new ordinance for the mines be effective, immediately,” their discussions punctuated by the authoritative echo of a gavel wielded by the lord councilor—a figure cloaked in silver robes, crowned with a hat of gold and silver, the de facto ruler of the Iron Kingdom.

“Now with that order, the mines will now restart and begin production,” the lord councilor announced, setting the wheels of progress in motion. “But we must not overlook the weightiest concern—the request from the Unibeltrasian Forces, which hinges upon the laws and new orders of our reformed kingdom."

“Get on with it, we’ve been rushing everything since we started, don’t slow down on us now, Lakuna!” A councilor’s voice cut through the air, punctuating the tense atmosphere with a touch of humor. Lakuna, the head councilor, adorned in a silver and white robe with iron bracelets, chuckled along with the rest of the room, his headdress gleaming with six chains attached to the symbol of the Iron Kingdom.

“Fine, councilor Wandel,” Lakuna responded with a smile, clearing his throat to address the assembly. “The first request—or rather, invitation—of her majesties, Queen Empress Tamara Lluch and the Imperial Regent, Tamiron Lluch, for the Iron Kingdom to join the United Forces will be finally put into discussion, after days of it being pushed aside.”

The attention of the room shifted suddenly as Lakuna called upon Lord Graveloth Demio, the Lord Paramount of the Iron Kingdom of the Kra’ens, to step forward.

He rose from his seat, his demeanor calm yet determined as he made his way to the center of the room, meeting the gazes of the councilors with resolve.

“After much consideration and deliberation,” Lakuna continued, his voice carrying authority, “we grant thee, Lord Paramount, authority over all of the Kra’en Army and grant thee permission to join the united armies. We hereby declare the Iron Kingdom of the Kra’ens as part of the Unibeltrasian Forces and to join them at the offensive against the Xerxecians in the continent of Shardon.”

Applause erupted throughout the chamber, echoing off the walls as Graveloth stood, relieved and grateful for the council’s decision. With his newly forged armor adorned with his own insignia, he felt the weight of responsibility lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of purpose and camaraderie.

As the applause gradually subsided, his mind raced with plans and preparations. Finally, he could join his comrades in the fight against their common enemy.

“As for the second request,” Lakuna’s voice carried a weight of concern, “I am afraid this will deplete our own supplies dearly.”

“How many men again? Almost two-hundred thousand?” Another councilor’s inquiry reflected the gravity of the situation.

“I understand the request is a bit absurd—”

“It is, Lord Paramount, it is. Why can’t the empire lend their own ores for that?” Cut off by Lakuna too early.

“I’m afraid that due to the nature of the Holenshartz, it simply will not be as effective as we hoped it to be,” he explained, his words rushed with urgency. “Kra’enite is the only viable option that we have."

The councilors exchanged troubled glances, grappling with the implications of their decision. The looming prospect of depleting their already strained resources hung heavy in the air.

“It doesn’t have to be armor,” Graveloth interjected, his voice tinged with desperation. “The weapons and kra’enite-tipped arrows will help in more ways than none of it. The Imperial Regent has already made it clear that it should be enough."

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His words faltered as he struggled to defend the request. two-hundred-thousand men would strain their supplies beyond capacity, a fact that was not lost on any of them.

“It is still unreasonable, Lord Paramount. You of all people should know this,” the same councilor’s reproach echoed through the chamber.

“If these beasts are as dumb as we think they are, why do we need such fine ores to be turned into weapons and armor—for all five hundred thousand and ten of them?” Another councilor’s skepticism added to the mounting tension in the room.

He sighed heavily, steeling himself for the gravity of his next words. “Because of the recent battle in the outskirts of Bastominad, my noble councilor,” he began, his voice weighed down by the burden of truth. “We learned that the weapons and armors of the Xerxecians were—mencraft.”

A collective gasp swept through the room, followed by a stunned silence. He lowered his gaze to the floor, knowing the shock his revelation would provoke.

The lord councilor broke the silence, his voice hushed with concern. “Are you certain of this?"

“Mencraft? I only heard rumors about it. The books even tell us that it’s the finest craftsmanship in the entire land,” a councilor sought clarification, disbelief etched in his features.

“Their craftsmanship surpasses all of our knowledge. All of the Seven Kingdoms’ to be exact,” another councilor pointed out, adding to the weight of the revelation.

He met their gazes with a solemn nod, understanding the gravity of the situation. The murmurs of the councilors filled the chamber, a cacophony of uncertainty and apprehension.

They were going to decline the request. He could sense it. The weight of failure settled heavily upon him as he realized the implications of their decision. He had failed Tamiron.

With a heavy heart, he braced himself for the inevitable rejection. The councilors settled into their seats, the air thick with tension as he met the gaze of the lord councilor, preparing himself for the verdict.

“After careful consideration, knowing the implications that our kra’enites may have on the war effort, I, myself knowing full well what a mencraft weapon is and its craftsmanship, we hereby agree to the new requests of the commander of the united forces,” Lord Councilor Lakuna declared, his words cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade through ice. The room fell into stunned silence as his announcement sank in.

The lord councilor’s unexpected approval left him dumbfounded. His jaw literally dropped at that point, unable to process the sudden turn of events. “We will begin the forging of such weapons and armors,” Lakuna continued, his voice resonating with authority, “and we will have the army bring more ore towards the war front along with our smiths in order to have a standing chance of fighting the Xerxecians."

I did it, he thought, a surge of disbelief and relief washing over him like a tidal wave. He was speechless, unable to find words to express the magnitude of his accomplishment. With a polite bow to the iron council, he left the room, his mind reeling with the weight of his success.

As he stepped outside, snow began to fall once more, each flake a testament to the newfound hope he had brought to his people. Looking up to the sky, he couldn’t help but smile, pumping his fist in triumph.

His friend greeted him, whose knowing smile mirrored his own. Embracing each other, they shared in the joy of his achievement. “Finally! After months of working on this, you convinced them!” his friend exclaimed, the relief evident in his voice.

“I’m finally free,” he laughed, the weight of responsibility lifting from his shoulders. Ouraq reached into his pocket, presenting him with a hand-carved wooden necklace adorned with the insignia of wind, a token of appreciation for his efforts.

Speechless, he accepted the gift, his heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you, Ouraq,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. Donning the necklace, he felt a renewed sense of purpose coursing through him.

But duty called, and with a heavy heart, he knew he must leave. “I will have to go now, I need to inform the Grand Commander,” he said, his urgency palpable as he ran towards the army headquarters. Pushing open the door, he was met with startled gazes, but he paid them no mind, his focus on delivering the good news to the others.

“I trust you have news for me?” Aderon’s voice cut through the air, his gaze fixed on the reports spread before him.

“As of this moment, you are looking at the Lord Paramount and Commander of the Kra’en Army of the Unibeltrasian forces,” he declared, a proud smile gracing his lips as he met Aderon’s eyes.

“Congratulations, my friend,” Aderon responded, his smirk acknowledging the weight of the achievement. “My apologies if I can’t give it to you properly as I am currently preoccupied. You deserve this."

Grinning with confidence, he relayed the good news. “Grand Commander, I can also say now with confidence that the Iron Kingdom will provide all of what was requested of us in the first place. Along with that, I’ll be able to finally come, with an army in tow.”

“That is great to hear,” Aderon replied, his expression reflecting relief and anticipation. “We need men, and we need them immediately. I trust you will be able to march within the week? The storm there in both our kingdoms will be a bit severe this time of the year. If I’m not mistaken, it’s around the middle of Loros now, or is it Aien?"

“Loros is ending, Commander. It is currently the thirty-second of Loros to be exact, so you are right,” he confirmed before clearing his throat. “I assure you as well, Commander, that we will be able to march without any hindrance,” he added confidently, his smile widening as he exuded assurance.

Aderon’s voice broke through the tension, his gaze fixed on the papers before him. “Good, and the second request? Did the Iron Council grant it?” he inquired, his tone expectant.

“As of now, Commander, the city of Mathron and every town in the Iron Kingdom are preparing for the march. The Iron Council has granted our request, and we will be able to bring some of the finished weapons and armors, while the remainder will be smithed and forged there at the camp and some along the way,” he replied, meeting Aderon’s gaze directly.

“That is indeed good news. Good job on your part, Lord Paramount. I expect you to be here within at least four months to five?” Aderon said, turning his attention back to the reports.

“I believe so, Commander,” he affirmed, but before he could say more, the war bell rang, interrupting their conversation.

Surprised, he rushed to the window, his eyes fixed on a tomb glowing in red atop the mountain. It was a sight he hadn’t seen in ages, a foreboding sign of trouble.

“What’s going on?” Aderon asked, concern etched on his face.

“I think we are under attack. I’ll handle this and update you as soon as possible,” he declared, his resolve firm despite the worry in the room.

“It’s been happening a lot lately. This is becoming worrisome. I’ll report this to the others. Until then, be careful,” Aderon said as he vanished, leaving him to confront the looming threat.

Heart pounding, he burst through the door, the chill of the night air hitting him like a wave. The city buzzed with murmurs and gasps as soldiers rushed towards the scene, all eyes fixed on the Gredostad Mountains. Flames raged, casting eerie shadows across the valley below.

His breath caught as he followed the crowd’s gaze. The once-stable mountain now stood engulfed in chaos and destruction, its glow fierce and ominous.

What had sparked this inferno? Was it a natural disaster, or something more sinister lurking in the shadows? Fear gripped his heart as he realized the danger looming over their city.

With determination etched on his face, he knew he had to uncover the truth. But as he took a hesitant step forward, a chilling thought seized him: whatever had ignited the flames might still be lurking in the darkness, watching, waiting.

End of Chapter XIV